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The Asian Business Woman

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Work in a warehouse is tough, but it can certainly be rewarding

I worked in a wholesale dry-goods warehouse in a rather large import city, shuffling paperwork and filling orders for coats, jackets and a sundry of clothing items. Every now and then, my boss would bring a customer into the warehouse to look at our stock levels and to show them how we managed orders.

The customer visits didn’t happen very often and for that, I was happy, as they were a general pain in the ass, because it interrupted the flow of operations. There were three of us that worked on the sixth floor of the warehouse. Myself, an older guy named Eric and a young black guy named Roland, who we simply referred to as “Ro.”

The warehouse was not provided with any air-conditioning or heat, which meant that we sweated our asses off in the summer and froze to death in the winter. We lived for the spring and the fall. During the summer, the warehouse manager allowed us to strip to our t-shirts, which often times became sweat soaked, so we often brought in t-shirts so we could occasionally change out of the stinky ones before we boarded the bus or the train home.

One day a few weeks back, our boss brought a customer up to the floor just as we were closing up. I had stripped out of my t-shirt and was preparing to put on my fresh one, when I looked over and saw my boss getting off the freight elevator with a well-dressed Asian woman. I couldn’t get into my fresh t-shirt fast enough and quickly apologized.

My boss explained that the building didn’t have any air conditioning, so the staff, to include me, often changed prior to leaving. The customer didn’t say anything and simply smiled.

Chuck, my boss showed the lady several items and she asked about the shipping. Chuck said the store would be glad to cover the shipping to make up for a mistake that had been made in the last order. She asked if she could stay and watch the items be packed to ensure they were properly shipped. Eric and Ro had already left- the lucky guys, leaving me the only one left in the warehouse.

Chuck looked at his watch and told the lady that we would be glad to pack the items and ship them in the morning. The lady was insistent, saying she had an early morning flight back China. Check looked at me and I knew what he was going to ask before he asked.

I will make it worth your while she said to Chuck, handing him a one-hundred-dollar bill. Chuck took the money and stuffed it in his pocket. He then told me to pack the items the lady wanted. Chuck jumped on the freight elevator and disappeared as I began to look over the order slip. There were forty different items- all winter jackets and coats, and several bedspread sets. I grabbed an order buggy and proceeded down the product lines, matching the order ticket with the palletized boxes, opening each and counting out the proper number of items, and placing them in the order buggy, while the customer waited near my check out station, where I would input things into a computer before re-coxing the items and attaching a shipping label.

It didn’t take me long to start sweating all over again. I was not a happy camper, even if I was making good overtime money.

The order complete, I pushed the buggy to my processing statement. The customer walked over and asked me my name.

She was a young lady, probably in her early thirties, very well dressed and her English was good, albeit with a British accent, which I thought was strange for someone from China. She asked me how if I was married, which struck me as kind of an odd question to ask.

I told her I wasn’t married and that I didn’t even have a girlfriend.

“I can be your girlfriend,” she replied matter-of-factly.

I smiled. I was in a hurry to get the items repacked and sent off, so I could get the heck out of there and relax.

She watched in silence as I repacked then items into another box. As I stuffed the last of the items into the last box, she asked if she could take a closer look at the bedspread set. I handed it to her and she tore the plastic covering loose and then proceeded to pull the comfortable a small throw pillows out of the bag. She spread out the comforter on top of a row of boxes and then took a step back to look at it.

“Do you like?” she asked in broken English.

I nodded my head to indicate I liked the item. She arranged the pillows on the comforter and then sat on it.

“Do you like?” she asked again in broken English, as I marked off the items using the computer screen.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Do you like?” she asked a third time.

Frustrated, I replied again, “Yes.”

Suddenly, I felt her presence standing right next to me, her hand on my side.

“Do you like?” she asked again.

I turned to answer and suddenly I realized, she was standing right next to me, her button-down blouse completely open, exposing her little small breasts neatly tucked into her white lace brassiere. I was speechless.

“Do you like?” she pressed again, slipping her hand up under my wet t-shirt and on to my chest.

“Yes,” I stammered out. She withdrew her hand and placed it directly on my crotch.

“Do you like?” she asked, squeezing my balls and feeling for my dick.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I like it too,” she replied, slipping out of her shirt and tossing it on to the comforter.

“I like your muscles,” she breathlessly remarked, as she reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp that held her brassiere in place. She slipped the spaghetti straps of her bra down her arms and held her bra in place with one hand.

“Do you like?” she asked, looking down at her breasts and then she looked back up at me.

“Yes,” I replied. She dropped her hand, and the bra,  revealing her small but wonderful breasts, with nipples that stood straight out.

“Do you like?” she inquired.

I was getting tired of the “Do you like” question.

She reached down and took my hand and placed it on to her left breast.

“Do you like?” she asked again.

I gently massaged her left breast and said, “Yes.”

She grabbed the bottom edge of my t-shirt and pushed her small hand up under it, feeling for my nipple.

“I like this too,” she said as she pinched my left nipple. Her other hand found it’s way to my expanding crotch.

“I like this too,” she added as she groped my manhood.

I unsnapped the top button of my jeans to relieve the pressure building up. Within seconds, the Chinese woman had pushed her hands into my pants and was fishing for my manhood. It didn’t take her long to find what she was searching for. She quickly knelt down in front of me, pulling at my jeans and my trousers down in the process. In an instant, my cock popped out and she grabbed it.

“I really like this,” she breathlessly exclaimed, studying my man tool. She slipped her lips around my tool and began a salacious blowjob.

I pulled her back into a standing position in front of me, and proffered a deep throated passionate kiss, which she enthusiastically accepted. I fumbled with the zipper to her business suit. She took a step back and unzipped the skirt, allowing it to fall to the dusty and dirty floor of the warehouse. She stood in front of me clad only in a small black thong and her heels.

“Do you like?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

She looked surprised.

“You are way over dressed,” I said.

She laughed and then proceeded to strip out of her thong. She extended her arms, the thong hanging off a finger in her left hand.

“Now, do you like?” she asked, standing totally naked in front of me.

“Yes,” I replied, kicking off my work shoes and stripping down to my underwear.

“Do you like?” I asked, standing in front of her, my hands on my hips, in my boxer shorts.

She took a step towards where I stood, a smirk crossing her face.

“No, no, no,” she replied. She pointed at my underwear with a finger and said, “Now, you are over-dressed.”

I chuckled.

I stripped out if my underwear and mimicked her arms and hands extended look, standing totally naked in front of her, still holding on to my boxer shorts, in all my splendor and glory.

“Do you like?” I asked.

“You are funny,” she replied. “You are making fun of me.”

I quickly apologized, tossing my boxer shorts over my shoulder and stepping in her direction. She took a step backward and launched herself backward on to the comforter she had spread out on top of the boxes of dry goods.

I slipped on to the boxes, as she parted her legs and welcomed my advances. In an instant, we had gone beyond the point of no return as she pushed my steel rod into her hot little love box. I felt as though I was going to crush her to death, since she was so small framed. I rolled on to my back and she quickly jumped on top of me, reinserting my pole into her tight little pussy.

She kept giving instructions in Chinese. I had no idea what she was saying and to tell the truth, it really didn’t matter. She dug her manicured nails into my chest and balled up her hands into white-knuckled fists, tensing up, her entire body shuddering and shaking. She was crazy, let me tell you.

I slipped off the boxes and pulled her to the edge. Her little brown starfish was tempting, but I knew there would be no way I could screw her in the ass, she was that small. I shoved my tool back into her pussy and she let out a primal-like scream. I grabbed her by her hips and pulled her towards myself, as I pummeled her from behind. It didn’t take much more for me to nut and I filled her with everything I could give, then slapped her on her bare ass several times, just for good measure. I grabbed a roll of paper towels and hand cleaner that we kept at the workstation and quickly cleaned myself off as she lay naked and spent on top of the comforter she had spread out on top of the dry good boxes. She rolled on to her side and looked up at me, as I slipped back into my underwear.

“Did you like?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I will come back next month,’ she replied. “I hope you will be willing to help me again.”

I assured her I would be there for her. I slipped back into my jeans and my shoes and finished placing a shipping tag on the boxes of items she had ordered. She dressed as I tried to repackage her comforter. She fished into her handbag and took out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to me.

“No, no, no,” I said, shoving the bills back into her hand.

“I pay for the comforter,” she said in her broken English. “You take it home to remember me.”

I laughed. There would be no way I could forget her.

She returns again next month, on the twentieth. I can’t wait.

 

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